The Stocking Strikes
by BurpingBubbles
Summary: And then the Stocking came down from the Land of Madness and said unto us: Extract character names from Me at Random and write unbelievably sick pairings with the result. And we did obey. And we had a rather smashing time doing so.
1. Default Chapter

**Introduction to Destruction (Or not)**

**Welcome to possibly the weirdest collection of stories on FF. Or maybe not the _weirdest _but you know, quite weird. Ok getting slightly off topic. **

**These are the sad stories of completely random pairings which me and Burping drew from a stocking (in a fit of strange Christmas happiness) so what you are hopefully about to read is NOT our fault! If you think they are sick, strange, twisted (which unhappily most of them are) then blame the stocking, not us…;)**

**But, from me and Burping, we wish you a Happy New Year and hope you enjoy! **

Burping here, just like to say that I have tried very hard to make my stories amusing not that I actually sat down and thought well I want these two to have a sexual relationship and so on. I hope you all had a very merry Christmas and will have a great new year and easter and so on and so forth.

**E**n**j**o**y**!


	2. McGonagall and?

Love in an Owlery

The Owlery was quiet that night, save for the occasional bleary hoot as footsteps tapped their way through straw, and owl droppings. The footsteps tapped briskly across the floor, finally coming to a halt in front of a quivering chocolate brown owl, who looked up, and blinked its amber eyes respectfully in acknowledgment of Minerva McGonagall, deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts school.

The usually alarmingly vocal birds shifted in their perches, following the straight backed witch as she swept across the room, her long emerald cape sweeping a path behind her through the fallen hay, parchment clutched in her hand. Her high heels tapping the ground, as she swept to the brown owl that was perched delicately on a wooden beam. Her face was one of concentration as she tied the thong and parchment to the owls leg. The owl fluttered out of the window gently, into the moonlit sky. For a moment, Minerva stood still, and gazed at the crescent moon. Why was each day in her life so identical, so same-ey? With eyes reflecting a longing for something, _anything _to brighten up her horribly boring life, she leaned on the windowsill, letting one hand dangle in the warm, summer night air…

A huge screech broke the silence as a ruffled, very small bird entered the Owlery, and proceeded to whiz around the room at alarming rate, before finally slamming into a beam with a barely audible 'thud.' McGonagall's wrinkles tightened in annoyance as she faced the fuzzy creature.

"And what do you think you're doing, making all that noise?" The bird was hastily smoothing out its feathers and had its wing over its face. Despite herself, Minerva found her heart melting slightly in its poor efforts to disguise itself, but she ordered herself to remain stern.

"Answer me, I tell you!" The birds head turned in a full circle to greet hers, and instantly it's bright black eyes widened at the sheer beauty of this voluptuous creature, never in his tiny life had he met someone so, god damn sexy! McGonagall too felt a burst of passion inside her, which made her spine tingle, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Why, aren't you a pretty little bird?" Much to her surprise, her tone was soft and soothing. Her heart began to thud as the owl turned fully on its perch to face her; a little note strapped to his leg. McGonagall took it off, feeling his soft breast feathers stroke her fingers as she did so, and began to read:

_Minerva, meet me in the dark forest at midnight, I'll be waiting. Love Ron Xxx_

McGonagall scrunched the letter up into a tight ball and threw it to the ground.

"So you're Ronald's owl, well, that does have a certain attraction, Pigwidgeon, isn't it?" The owl nodded slowly, keeping his eyes on her pruny face. McGonagall reached a hand alluringly behind her, and removed her cape slowly, letting it fall to the ground. She was left standing in her night clothes: a pink satin night dress that cut off mid thigh. Her legs were veiny and hairy with a huge hairy mole on her left kneecap.

"What do you think?" she purred, feeling her heart burst into a fiery drum roll inside her, a smile for the first time in twenty years gracing her lips. Pigwidgeon was mesmerised by her beauty. Her boobs were wrinkled and sagging. Trying to work out if it was all some kind of beautiful dream, he gazed lustfully on as she shook her hair out of its tight bun and let it fall to her waist. The ringlets were grey and greasy, but Pig didn't mind. He was in love. McGonagall let her nightie slip to her waist...

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Right I am stopping right there, poor Ron, love of his life cheated on him with his own pet, never going to look at McGonagall in the same way again. Sorry for any grossing out but I had to think of something for a weird pairing. Thank God I didn't carry on. Please read and review! XxxxX


	3. James and?

**James and ?**

He had been staring at his feet at the time, considering how the toes all bent sideways at a funny angle. Yes, it was nice little fun fact most people never knew about the legendary James Potter; despite having a handsome face and lean, slim figure he had the weirdest feet in the whole of his dorm.

He wiggled his toes, gazing at the little one steadily. The nails were getting kind of long too, but he just couldn't be asked to cut them. The little toe, he realised suddenly, was almost as big as his big toe. Wow.

Oh yes. And he was supposed to be revising for his exams. And he didn't care.

Remus Lupin lay on the bed next to him, muttering under his breath the twelve uses of dragons blood, while Peter lay on the floor with his legs in the air, staring blankly at the ceiling. Looking at him, James concentrated hard on his lips.

_I'm going to fail the exam _James read, and snickered, _I am stupid. I am worthless. I have no meaning in my life. _

"You're looking awfully optimistic then, Pete," James commented casually, making his friend jump and let his legs fall to the floor with a thump. Unable to resist, James continued, "Looking forward to the exam?"

A pair of scrawny rat like eyes widened at him, but before Peter had a chance to answer Remus looked up. "James, you should be revising, we have our Charms exam in an hour!"

James snorted, lolling back on his pillow. "Moony, I don't _need _to revise! I already know it all." He grinned as Peter cast him an envious look, and Remus a dirty one.

"I don't care!" Remus snapped, and flung a random textbook at him, "You WILL study, Prongs, for once in your life you shall work for your marks!" Remus flared his nostrils, sucking in his breath and narrowing his eyes at James, making him crack up with laughter.

"Constipation, Moony?"

"No!" Peter giggled in the background, a grin cracking through his depressed features. Climbing unsteadily to his feet, and firmly ignoring the textbook on the floor by his bed, James sauntered towards the door.

"James?" Remus sounded threatening, and almost made him pause in his tracks. Almost. "James, where are you going?"

"Going to the library," James mumbled over his shoulder, "Quieter there." Smirking, he pulled the door closed behind him, knowing Remus could hardly deny him going to there, a place filled with books and information.

He didn't necessarily mean he was going there to study, but no-one had to know that.

Sirius sat among piles of books, gazing at them in what was close to despair. Despite claims he had made at any other point in his life, charms was his worst subject and, again, as opposed to anything else he might have said before, he did care about his grades.

A book lay open before him, and that was what he turned his eyes to then. "In order to perform the Movement Charm, the wizard must flick his wand in a circular motion, whilst uttering the command "Move!""

"Move," Sirius commanded dully, flicking his wand at someone's notebook on the table next to him. Much to his surprise, it moved by about an inch, and beaming with pride, Sirius looked back at his book, only to scowl as he read the words, "This is around first year standard work."

"Well, they're really going to test us on that then," he muttered sarcastically, throwing down his wand and glaring at all his illegible notes, "God, I hate charms!"

A tingle shot up his spine, and suddenly Sirius had the irresistible feeling that someone was standing right behind him. Whipping round, disturbed, his face broke out into a broad grin as he saw his best friend standing right behind him. "Prongsie!" he burst out loudly, making the girl next to him jump and several pointed "Shhhh's!" came from some direction. James raised an eyebrow, then smiled. It really was difficult to remain looking cool and collected when someone was so excited to see you.

"What are _you _doing here, Si?" he asked, looking quizzically at the scattered books surrounding his usually hapless best mate. Sirius immediately stood up, hoisting his bag over his shoulder and faced him.

"So I tried to study. So what?" he asked, pink creeping slightly into his cheeks, and James stared in astonishment.

It had been odd enough to walk into the library and see Sirius' familiar dark haired head bent over what resembled a mountain of books. It had been even odder to see that he wasn't looking up something for the Animagi potion, which was the only time James had ever seen him read up on something, but for _Charms, _for _work. _But what beat it all was that Sirius Black, the coolest, smoothest person he had ever known was standing in front of him now, blushing.

Sirius pushed a tuft of hair from his eyes, meeting James' gaze defiantly, though the red was still visible between the smattering of freckles on his nose. Then he shrugged, burying his hands deep into his pockets, the hint of grin playing about his mouth.

"I say we hit the road James, and go practise Quidditch. What d'you reckon?"

James shook his head slightly, Sirius' words barely making sense to him. Briefly he thought of the wind whipping through his hair, the thrill of taking off leapfrogging in his stomach, and nodded eagerly. "Sure. I'll go get our brooms. Meet you on the pitch."

0o0

Sirius was a lone, dark figure in the centre of the stadium when James finally came outside, brooms resting on both shoulders. Rain was just starting to drip from the cloudy sky, and a high wind had picked up, but the fever of flying had already settled in James' stomach. No way was he going to quit now.

Dark brown strands of hair blew across Sirius' face as he turned, and saw James. He grinned, and waved, and started towards him, shoulders hunched against the wind. Tucked under one arm, he held the Quidditch box that contained all the balls, and deftly he caught the broom James threw to him.

"Cold, isn't it?" James said conversationally, as together they struggled with the rusty straps on the box. Briefly, Sirius looked up, and their eyes met. Both grinned simultaneously.

"What, don't want to play because of a little cold?"

"As if!"

Sirius snapped open the wires holding the quaffle in place, and took it out, pushing it into James' chest. "Good. I'd hate to think you were chicken, Prongs, and tell everyone about it." He slammed the lid closed, eyeing James cockily. "That would be a misfortune, wouldn't it?"

Rain was coming down harder now, and both teenagers refused to acknowledge it as they swung their legs over their brooms at the same time. James was the first to kick off, launching himself as hard as he could into the air, using every muscle in his being, urging his broom to go as high as it could… A fierce joy leapt in his heart, who cared about exams? This was life, to be free, agile, forever moving in the air, at one with the enchanted wood in his hands.

The wind roared and howled in his ears, and from somewhere to his right he sensed Sirius drawing level with him, hair as black as his name moving ceaselessly in the wind. Water splashed onto his glasses, then it was numbing his entire face, his hands, gripping round his broom handle were frozen, yet still James accelerated, the whoop for joy he'd uttered blown far behind him and lost on the wind.

"James!"

A scarlet blur, that was all the Quaffle resembled in the rain, yet triggered by reactions bored into him from the year he started playing Quidditch James shot forwards, snatching the quaffle from the air. Wheeling round, he saw Sirius sitting up, alert, legs entwined round his broom and eyes sparkling, or was that just the water? James could not tell, and neither did he take time to think as he straightened up, took aim, and flung the ball as hard as he could, up into the air.

As though in slow motion, Sirius' hands flexed, pulled in a swift upwards motion, hurtling upwards into the stormy sky, and within seconds he had the quaffle safely clamped to his stomach.

James remained still, feeling the rain fall faster, and Sirius' face grow hazy as his glasses started to fog. "Hold it!" he yelled, diving a hand down his sodden robes for his wand, and bringing it to his glasses he muttered the spell to repel water. Instantly, he could see again.

"Ok!" he shouted triumphantly, and Sirius on hearing his command threw the ball hard left, and James, happy to see though still numb with cold flung himself after it.

He looked round. Sirius was posed expectantly on his broom, waiting for him to catch it and throw it back, and James felt the ball slide through his fingers. Hastily, he snapped back his attention and caught it, though barely.

"Getting a bit much for you, is it Jamesie?" Sirius' hair was plastered to his face, dark eyes staring mockingly at him from under soaked strings. Weird, his eyes looked almost haunting in the gloom, and James felt himself shiver.

"We have an exam to be at in half an hour," he said hoarsely, though he threw the ball back anyway, to Sirius' waiting hands. Instinctively he flew nearer, and Sirius dropped a few feet below him, throwing upwards and making James nearly flip upside down in order to catch it.

"So?" Sirius' face was etched with concentration, he flew upwards and looped-the-loop, ending up right before James so he no longer had to shout, "We have time."

"Not unless we want to go into the test dripping wet."

Sirius grinned, lips upturning, curving almost to bring out the tiny dimple he had on his left cheek. "Why not? They're aren't any rules against turning up wet, James…"

The wind roared, flinging yet more hair across his face as he spoke, and suddenly James found his eyes glued to his lips, moving so softly, so gently as he spoke his name. His broom bucked slightly beneath him, and he fought to keep it there, struggling against the wind. A sudden lurch brought him forwards a little, then a particularly violent push sent him smashing right into Sirius.

"Ow! Bloody Hell, Sirius, sorry," James wriggled desperately, feet waving in mid air, trying to regain his foot hold. The broom was being ripped away from him, and trying not to panic he thrust out a hand, hanging onto Sirius' shoulder.

"Effing…broom!" he gasped, the rain running down into his eyes to obscure his senses once more, and he gave a cry as the broom disappeared from between his legs entirely, only something was holding him up, supporting him…

Squinting through his stinging eyes, his heart squeezed and throbbed several times. Sirius was hanging onto his arms, his legs now partly on and off Sirius' broom. For what seemed hours their gaze locked, speaking to each other without words, then his feet touched the ground, and incredibly relieved he rolled off, and saw his broom following meekly behind them. Confused, he gazed around, and saw Sirius with his wand out, obviously accio-ing it to him.

"Well," Sirius was unnaturally close to him, and James could feel his body heat roll off him as he hung securely onto his broom. They were so close they were almost touching, almost nose to nose, so close James could have counted his freckles on his beautiful face. His eyes were seeking out James', and almost magnetised James looked up, focusing finally on his.

He could hold it back no longer. In one fluid movement he pulled his friend to him, and pressed his lips to his. Fire burst in electrifying passion around them, and within seconds those ice cold lips were kissing him back, drawing him in ever closer, ever deeper…

Then it was over. How it happened, when they broke apart James could never remember. All he knew was that, one moment he had been kissing his best friend with the kind of fervour he had always saved for his dreams of Lily, then the next they were staring at each other, rain pounding the mud around them.

James felt his mind whirr in numb shock, horror clenching in his stomach, confusion cloud his head. What had he done? Surely Sirius would never forgive him for that, or let him forget it…

Sirius hitched his broom higher on his shoulder, looking him right in the eye. Then finally he broke the silence. "So, shall we head back in?"

Relief exploded in James' stomach, Sirius understood, he got it even if James himself didn't. "Yeah," he said weakly, "I reckon we should."

Together, they headed back across the pitch, rain continuing to fall like nothing amazing had ever just happened out there, on Hogwarts grounds. The wind still blew, harsh and cold as ever, though the two, safely inside the changing rooms could no longer feel it…could no longer feel it…

000ooo000oo00oo00o0

Yo. Sirius and James, whoopee, another cool pairing done and dusted! I was actually rather fond of this one, and if you were wondering, no James isn't gay, he was just getting a bit carried away, bless him… (Laughs) Review!


	4. Dean and?

Dean lay on his bed, his breath stinking like it could murder a herd of wild buffalo.

'Shouldn't have had all that Fire Whiskey and Vodka, really,' he thought groggily as he turned to face the empty bottles on his bedside cabinet. Let it be known never mix muggle and magical drinks together, unless you wanted to look like Dean did that morning. With his blood shot eyes and greasy hair he would have shocked even the hardest of drinkers.

Clutching his forehead and trying very hard not to heave, he looked away from the bottles in disgust. The throbbing in his head grew worse, and groaning he rolled over, crushing his teddy bear as he did so.

"Ah, dear Mr Ted," he mumbled, hugging his bear closer, "Always there for me… even wh' I'm ill…"

Smiling even in his chronic state, Dean gently bought his favourite teddy up to his face, burying his nose in the fluffy fur and inhaling deeply. Even after being at Hogwarts for so long, Mr Ted still carried a very faint smell of home about him, one of his mothers baking and…and… cat pee???

Dean opened his eyes, and screamed as he found himself nose to nose with something orange, fluffy, and very much alive. In horror he watched as sleepily, a pair of bright green eyes opened up, and gazed at him from under lowered lids. Giving a strangled yell, Dean wriggled as far away as he could without falling out the bed, and the Thing slid closer to him, rubbing its head alluringly against his stomach, and from behind it, came another orange, fluffy Thing to wiggle in the air.

"Oh my God!" Dean rasped, struggling to keep his eyes open as his headache viciously attacked him again, and in his confusion, managed to get his legs tangled up in his duvet and with another roar of fright, he found himself slipping off the edge, the animal getting steadily closer…

"ARRRAGH!" Dean hung onto the curtains for dear life, as the Orange One made a randy leap, right onto his chest and sunk all four sets of claws firmly into his bare chest.

For a moment, all was still, as Dean gazed fearfully into the cats eyes, wondering what it would do next. Just as it seemed to have made up its mind, however, there came a steady, "Ping. Ping. Ping," from overhead. Fearing the worst, Dean looked up, just as the red velvet curtain lost its last hook and dropped bodily onto him, making him loose his balance, and topple backwards off the bed.

"HEEEEEELLLLLLLLPP!" Dean roared, thrashing around violently as the cat promptly went berserk, squealing and ripping every thing near it into shreds. Unfortunately, this included Dean's face.

Then, just as he thought he was either going to suffocate or die of blood loss, someone ripped the heavy weight off him. Unbearably bright light shot into his eyes, and he gave a very un-manly squeak, covering his face. The thing stopped ripping at his skin, but continued to lie there, a very heavy and foreboding presence.

"Er, Dean?"

Dean didn't know who's voice that was and frankly he didn't care. All he wanted was to go back to sleep, and get over his hangover in peace, dammit!

He didn't answer. Mutterings broke out around him, and from very far off he thought he heard Harry's voice say, "Hey, isn't that Crookshanks?"

Next to him, the floorboards creaked, and he jumped then clutched at his head as Seamus' loud, irish voice blurted into his ear, "Mate, why did you have Hermione's cat in your bed?"

Through tiny slits of his eyes, Dean peeped at Seamus' blurred face, trying to process his words properly. "Cat…?"

Even with his eyes closed, he could practically hear Seamus roll his eyes. "Yes, a cat! Hermione's cat? Crookshanks!"

Crookshanks…

_Flashback_

_Dean stumbled into his dormitory, supported by Seamus and Neville. His eyes groggily swept the room, then hastily looked back to the carpet. Shadows were suddenly horrible, leering vampires and hags with fangs, ready to get him. The room lurched, and with a soft "Oooph," he hit his bed. _

"_You stay there…no more party for you…let him sleep it off…" Snatches of garbled conversation from his friends came to his ears, but he brushed it off. He wasn't drunk, he was just fine! Rolling over to tell his friends that, he only found a closed door and an empty room before his eyes. _

_Dean sniffed. He felt very lonely. "C'back guysh," he mumbled, reaching out an arm as though trying to pull them back in, then let it fall with a dejected whimper. Then he gave a startled "Blagh!" as something came pattering very fast across the floor, and took a running jump onto his stomach. _

"_Well, hiya bea'ful," he slurred, clumsily stroking the cats marmalade coloured fur as it stared down at him alluringly, "Come 'ere often?"_

_The cat only replied with rubbing its head into his chin, and Dean gave a snort of laughter. _

"_Hey, tha' tickles! Stoppit!" he giggled, but Crookshanks only responded with a sultry purr, and began sweeping his tail over Dean's legs…_

Dean sat bolt upright as the memory went blank there, and everyone gasped. "Oh my GOD!" he gasped, staring at Crookshanks, who had fallen to his lap as he sat up, "Someone get that demon cat out of here!"

Crookshanks was flung bodily from the room, and Dean scrambled back into his bed, ripping his cover up and over his face, determined to fall asleep and forget the whole thing…

_5 days later…_

Dean was chilling in the common room, with his bitch, Seamus at his side. A yard or so away from him sat Harry, Ron and Hermione, and if he cared to listen he could hear their conversation. Dean was not an eavesdropper, but at Hermione's next words, his ears pricked up.

"Guys, I think Crookshanks is pregnant!"

Dean spat out his mouthful of butterbeer, all over Seamus who was drenched. A mixture of horror and disbelief came onto his face, and he was focusing so hard on Hermione's words he didn't even notice. Seamus blinked, gently dripping beer and only out of deep seated affection for Dean pretended not to notice.

"Hermione, Crookshanks, is well, a dude," Harry's voice wafted over awkwardly, and Dean nodded furiously, feeling his heart rise in relief. Of _course _Crookshanks was a man!

"Actually, he's not. I had him checked out today at Hogsmeade and according to the blind guy at the counter he's actually a female!"

Dean screamed out loud, and the common room fell silent. Looking round he saw the famous trio gazing at him curiously, and even Seamus was giving him the old funny eye.

"I, er," his words echoed like the room was empty, his face flushing scarlet, "I mean, I, er, stumped my toe."

Helplessly he looked at Seamus for back up, and Seamus nodded furiously. "It's true! I saw him do it!"

With a simultaneous "ohhhhh!" the conversations immediately arose, and with his heart still going nineteen to the dozen, Dean glanced nervously over at Hermione, who gave him a tiny half smile and wave.

"Well, I'm off to bed," sighed Seamus, realising he would get no more attention from his 'best mate' tonight, and standing up and discreetly wiping his face at the same time mumbled, "G'night Dean."

"Night Sea'," replied Dean absently, running a hand through his hair, lost in despair as he watched Hermione return to her conversation. What would she say if she knew…?

As Seamus mooched sadly away up the stairs, Dean heard a familiar "patter, patter, patter," and looked round he gasped as an orange blur zipped past his ankles. Horrified he watched as Crookshanks went bounding up the stairs after his friend.

"SEAMUS! NOOOOO!"

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So did Seamus get off with Crookshanks? Or was it all an innocent 'cat thing'? Heh heh heh, I'll leave that to your imagination…If you liked it, review! If you didn't like it, review anyway! C'mon, help us out here...


	5. Luna and?

She had always been something of an oddball. Always had her head in the clouds, as her dad used to say, though her father could hardly talk.

Some people even referred to her as _Loony _Lovegood.

Luna tightened her cloak about herself, and cast a quick glance up the moonlit corridor. She was neither odd, nor loony. Her fair hair, dappled silver by the moon as it shone through the trees then onto the window rippled behind her, and even the wand behind her ear had something of an edge to it.

She knew _exactly _what she was doing.

Briefly, she paused, sliding out her wand and holding it to her chest, ready to stun anything that moved. One couldn't be sure at night, not nowadays. Not even in Hogwarts. Her large, pale eyes, usually so vague squinted at something in the distance, then she nodded and continued on her moonlit flit.

Sure, it was risky. Daddy had warned her about what was coming, about how He Who Must Not Be Named had bought all the Dark Creatures together, ones that could penetrate Hogwarts's walls in a snap. Luna didn't care. Her heart pounded inside her, aching heart that had waited for so long and she hurried her footsteps in the dark. She didn't care what was out there, she would brave it all for him in an instant, and oh, she _must _see him!

For a moment she hesitated in the dark, biting her lip. Then there was the age-gap thing, she thought, and the teeth drove harder into her skin. There would be people out there who might judge her for what she was doing now, regretfully, Daddy included.

She shook her head, and started to run, breath coming out in anguished sobs. No! She wouldn't give it all up for what other people thought, she couldn't. Her mother had always taught her to follow her heart if she followed nothing else, and that was what Luna was determined to do.

Anyway, she decided, pausing for breath before she crossed the next staircase, it wasn't as though people didn't judge her anyway, for what she believed in. It was narrow minded people like them who restricted people like her for achieving what she really wanted in life. And in this case, was, well, her heart's desire.

She looked around her, tightening the grip on her wand. Everywhere was so horribly empty. If it wasn't for the fact she had walked the path so many times before she would have feared getting lost, but not even hippogriff's on rampage could stop Luna now. Lightly, she ran down the staircase, her heart banging away inside her as it always did when the thought of being close to him was in her head.

"But I'm coming, my love," she whispered under her breath, "Do not fear. I'm coming for you."

A portrait gave a sleepy grunt, painted eyes flickering as she swept past it. Noticing this, Luna slowed down, giving her fiery heart time to cool down slightly, and remembering her whispered words she gave an ironic smile.

"But then, he's never afraid is he?" she hissed, and gave a tiny laugh, "No, of course he's not! Heart of a lion, with the brain of a Ravenclaw." Her own heart gave another twist at the qualities of her lover.

"He's the sort of man Daddy used to be, before, before…" Luna's mumbled words trailed off, her glowing eyes suddenly dimming. Her mind finished the sentence even if her mouth didn't, _before her mother died…_

Suppressing a sniff, she turned a corner, and froze as the familiar gargoyle came into her vision. Mind reeling somewhat in shock, she felt inside her blouse and took out her watch that dangled on the end of a golden chain. Ten minutes. To get through seven floors of switching staircases, snoring portraits and creepy suits of armour, it had taken her a mere ten minutes to reach her destination.

As though in a dream she moved forwards, eyes fixed on the ugly stone gargoyle blocking her path from her love. Taking a deep breath she whispered, in a tremulous, vaguely panicky voice, "Sherbert Lemon."

It glared at her, stone face forever carved in a ferocious snarl, and terrified, Luna cast her mind around. She knew him better than anyone, what would a likely candidate be for a password? Anyone else would guess sweets, other names of sweets, but something told Luna that that wasn't it. Slowly, she held out a hand, and stroked the statue's face, shaking fingers tracing the cold folds of stone. She knew almost everything there was to know about him, for to her he hid no secrets.

Staring into the Gargoyles eyes, she gave an aggravated moan. He was doing this on purpose, to test her! Her eyes filled with tears as she thought of his face, those piercing, sparkling eyes caressing her in a single, light blue wave, his clouds of perfumed hair entwining her fingers as she ran her hands through it, no, she wouldn't be denied that, not now, not never!

With a tiny, juddering 'click' the gargoyle sprang to life and hopped aside. Hardly daring to believe it, Luna jumped, eyes wide. Here it was, though she didn't know how she got it, her pathway to heaven was clear!

With a tiny light jump she sprang gracefully onto the steps, feeling them whirl her ever higher, smiling with glee. The stairs vibrated smoothly under her as though celebrating in agreement. Luna couldn't wait for them to take her to him. In less than two seconds she was at the top of the stairs, staring at the dark wooded door, her hand poised to knock.

Her hand froze. She stared at the griffin shaped door knocker, a sudden, horrible thought shooting in her mind: _What if he doesn't want me here?_

Instantly her mind was flooded with doubts. _What if he's asleep? What do I do if he gets angry? What if he's in there with someone else, or what if, _here her breath caught a little in her chest, _What if he has no clothes on??_

Luna gazed at the door, her mind whirring. "I can't do this," she muttered faintly, "I really can't."

But she couldn't turn away _now. _Briefly she thought of the long walk back to her common room, her heart unfulfilled. It would be the most gut wrenching thing she'd ever do.

Her hand suddenly developed a mind all of its own. It tapped politely, softly on the door, and she gazed, horrified at the door, hearing the sound reverberate slightly in the room beyond. Her breathing started getting quicker and quicker, almost to the point of hyperventilating, especially when she heard that deep, calm voice on the other side, "Come in."

He was giving her the option, she knew, to turn away now if she wanted to. He could have answered the door himself, and pushed her inside, but he didn't. He simply _told _her to come in, when she could turn on her heel and flee if she felt the need.

She didn't. Her hearts desire was in there calling for her to come in, and here she was, doubting her actions! Giving a small, ironic laugh she tugged the door open, heart beating in her throat, red rising in her cheeks already, but she was doing this, finally doing this…

Albus stood up, hands held behind his back, regarding the girl below him with a small, longing smile.

"Miss Lovegood," he breathed, holding her wide, silver gaze with his own sea blue ones, "I wondered when you would be coming."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Oh, blee, Luna and Dumbledore! I don't know WHAT possessed me to make this one tender and sappy, I should've gone for the humour really shouldn't I? (Shudders) But never mind. Please, as I have said so many times before, review! You wouldn't believe what just a couple of lines commenting on our stories do for our, er, hearts. So cheers for reading, and please review!


	6. Deatheaters have feelings too!

Deatheaters have feelings too

Dear Diary,

The Dark Lord is now more gorgeous than ever, he just sets my soul on fire. His cold lifeless eyes penetrate my very being. I can't be around him without thinking what he would be like in bed. Oh, I know it's wrong, but I just can't help it he is just so, well, SEXY!

He summoned me today, yes, me, not Peter but me. I couldn't believe it! I tried my new walk, the one that said ' Hi I'm Severus, want some loving' and I think it worked, he looked at me and smiled. I gave him the 'come to bed eyes' and spoke in the softest tone I had. He couldn't say anything, obviously. He is the Dark Lord. Can you just imagine what it would do to his street cred if everyone found out he was a homosexual? I honestly don't mind, but it would ruin his chances of people fearing his very name. ("I am the Dark Lord Voldemort," " Oh yeah, you're that gay guy, right?"). So you see our relationship must remain a secret. But anyway back to what I was saying about him summoning me. Well he basically said for me to "Pull my finger out of my spotty arse and start finding out useful bits of information". He said I had a spotty arse, can you believe it, he mentioned my bum, he must like me! I immediately lost the soft tone, as I knew this was a business call and not for romance, much to my disappointment.

I didn't fancy hanging around so I grabbed my purse, as I was in serious need of retail therapy. I found my way to a near by shopping pavilion and hit the shops. Topshop, Miss Selfridge, New look, H&M and not forgetting my fave Tammy. I saw the nicest thong, it would've looked great on Minerva or even better, _Voldemort._ Ahhhhhh! No stop it Severus you must not think of him in a thong, no I tell you, no! Although he would look pretty nice... Arrrgh, at it again, your relationship must be pure! Pure! Pure! PURE!! Oh I bought this gorge top it was lovely, black and pink. I know what you're thinking, pink, that is sooo not your colour darling, but just wait. It had silver zips and chains, it was black with pink sleeves, it was quite tight but I pulled it off. Very bondage Goth if I do say so myself. Voldemort will be pleased.

(Voldemorts pov)

Snape is the most ridiculous person I have ever met, did you know what he did today, oh you wait. He came strolling into my office like a constipated duck and proceeded to look at me as though he was sucking on a lemon. I question his seriousness to this role he plays in my bid of world domination!

000ooo000ooo000ooo000ooo

Hey this one is pretty funny, i hope you all like it. Please read and review, it would mean so much, thank you XxxxX


	7. Slytherin Pimp Daddy

A mismatch made in hell

Draco's bleach blonde hair was tucked behind his ear. He fingered it slowly, frowning. What was it doing there? He never had his hair tucked behind his ear! But on this occasion it was accepted. He had his hair tucked behind his ear because Draco had just spent one long passionate night with none other than Ronald Weasley. Yes, you did hear that right. And I know what you are thinking. How the hell did that happen? Well, it all happened a long time ago… well actually the night before but we won't bother with details.

Ron and Harry were spending a quiet night in the Gryffindor common room, sharing a bottle of fire whiskey they had stolen from Filches office. Ron, unscrewing the cap, let his eyes roll over the room scouting for any teachers hiding away in the corners before offering it to his mate. Harry grabbed the bottle and took a huge gulp, the whiskey ran down his neck setting fire to his throat. Coughing and spluttering, he passed it back to Ron.

"Pretty powerful stuff, that," Harry muttered, wiping his mouth.

Ron took a deep swig and put the bottle on the table beside him, coughing deeply he looked up at Harry.

"So, what d'you wanna do then?"

"I dunno, I dare you to go backwards down the main stairwells banister,"

"Yeah alright then, you're on, you wait here."

A huge screech broke the deathly silence as Ron's backside squeaked down the banister.

"Weeeeeeeee!" shrieked Ron, and a red headed blur zoomed past the sleeping portraits. Ron fell off the banister to the hard marble floor beneath him.

"Ow, my bloody arse!" Ron began his way back up the stairs, on his way up he noticed an icy blond boy leaning against a portrait of an old man and a goat. Ron decided not to question the painting but the boy instead.

"Malfoy!" He spat all over the floor.

"Yes, Weasley," said Malfoy wiping his big toe menacingly. The tension was clear, the two had eyes fixed on each other. Draco took a threatening step towards Ron, who refused to be intimidated and stood stock still.

"What are you doing here, shouldn't you be in bed with your bitches?" snarled Ron, then let a small smile fall across his face. _That was a pretty good insult…_

"Oh, Weasley, I'm so tired of our petty squabbling. Can't we just be friends?" Draco seemed shockingly sincere, his eyes were two blazing pits of lust.

"I would sooner chew off my own tongue," slurred Ron, trying to sound threatening. Draco took a step forward and was now the closest to Ron he had ever been. "That can be arranged...babe," he purred alluringly.

"You don't look so bad up close," he continued, licking his lips. Ron's mind was fuzzing over, the fire whiskey was finally starting to kick in. He vaguely registered that something was wrong, but he just couldn't put his finger on it. Draco leaned in and pressed his lips against Ron's. Ron immediately pulled away, but Draco leaned in again. Giving up he let Draco kiss him. Ron was too drunk and tired to stop, he felt himself being led away…

The next morning Ron woke up with a pounding headache. Groggily, his eyes flickered open to an unfamiliar surrounding. Dark painted walls, neat and tidy work space and a warm arm wrapped around his waist. He was in bliss.

Ron yawned, stretched, then farted lazily; the gas filtering out of his bum and rippling the duvet. He sniggered in surprise. That was a classic! It even made the appropriate sound effects, squishing, squelching and even a hint of wetness. A muffled "Flippin' heck," came from behind him, and turning somewhat proudly around he smiled. Then his eyes focused. Next to him lay Draco Malfoy, Slytherin Pimp Daddy of Hogwarts.

A piercing scream filtered its way through Hogwarts.

ooo000ooo000ooo000

Well that was silly, imagine sleeping with your arch foe. I'd rather not. I hope you all liked. Please R&R lot's of fluffy marshmallow bean sprouts Xxxxx


	8. Goyle and?

Goyle was feeling incredibly depressed.

He had just received a 'T' for his latest Charms essay.

He had never had a 'T' before.

It didn't feel good.

He had received a howler from his parents, bawling for the entire school to hear about how he was a disgrace, and if he didn't pick his grades up soon he would be banished from the family.

That was the second time they had done that. It seemed he was on his last chance.

Goyle sighed, forking up yet another pickled onion.

Malfoy hadn't been any help. He had flaunted his essay mark (an 'E') with pride, and everyone, including Goyle had been looking up to him in awe, exactly how Malfoy wanted it. Then, just as Goyle had been clumsily stuffing his exam into his bag, Malfoy had ripped it out his hands, looked at the mark and yelled: "Dear GOD! Listen here, everyone, Goyle got a 'T'!"

A tear rolled down Goyle's large face, plopping with a splash in the vinegar. Morosely, he fished around for another onion in the jar.

Everyone looked down on Goyle in the Slytherin house. No-one ever took him seriously. Despite being so tall and thick-set, they managed to find a way to talk over his head, using long words he didn't understand.

Even Crabbe was more respected than him. In fact, recently Crabbe and Malfoy had been doing the whole "best friend" thing, and leaving him completely out of it. Oh, they'd whisper secrets to each other, giggle with each other, leaving Goyle to blink stupidly over at them, pathetically wounded.

So, with a heavy heart, with everyone laughing hysterically at him over the 'T', Goyle had silenced the pain in the only way he knew how.

Eating pickled onions.

The house-elves knew him quite well now, and when they spotted his giant, saddened face coming in through their portrait hole they had simply pressed the largest jar of onions they possessed on him. Even now, they were nearly gone, and he had only been here…three hours?

"S'cuse me," he grunted at a passing elf, who immediately halted and looked sleepily up at him, "What's the time?

The elf turned around and looked up at the huge clock on the wall opposite. "Just past midnight, sir!" it said squeakily, "Sparky is just off to bed, sir!"

Goyle looked sadly down at his one remaining onion.

"Of course, Mister Goyle is welcome to remain here, sir, for as long as he wishes!" Sparky beamed toothily at him, then patted his arm with one horny hand.

"Thanks," muttered Goyle, turning away. Glancing round, he noticed the kitchen was empty of all the house elves, and even as he sat there, he heard a tiny elf door slam as Sparky went to bed.

He was alone.

Goyle peered into the weak brown depths of the vinegar. There was the last onion, a misty white thing peering up at him. He had lost the appetite for them now, but it was sacrilege to waste food, so Goyle put his fork into the vinegar, and attempted to stab at the onion.

It slipped away, bouncing against the side of the jar. Sighing heavily, he went after it, and made another quick, sharp jab.

Again, under the metal prongs touch, it slipped away, rolling as though in slow motion through the water. Goyle blinked, then frowned. Onions did not normally act like this. Usually they were very well behaved when he tried to fork them up. Slowly this time, he attempted to fork it up, but once more it just rolled away.

Goyle was getting angry now. What should he do, tip the jar up and let it roll out? Smash the thing into a thousand pieces? With no helpful house elf around to advise him, he gave a roar of frustration, plunged the fork into the vinegar and stabbed with all his might.

The onion shot away from the fork with the force of a jet engine, ricocheted off the sides, smacked him square between the eyes then rolled off across the table, gathering dirt and grime as it went.

Goyle burst into tears.

"WHY DO I HAVE TO BE SO STUPID!" he sobbed, burying his enormous face in his hands, "I HATE MYSELF! I CAN'T EVEN CATCH A DAMN ONION…"

He allowed his voice to tail off into muffled crying, then allowed his elbows to slip down until his head was resting on the table.

_Thunk. _His elbows had slipped too fast, and he had whacked his head on the table.

"O-o-ouch!" he gulped forlornly, but didn't raise his head, even though his nose was running rather badly and his face felt all sticky with tears…

"I wish, just f-for o-once something would go _right_," he muttered, and the huge, sad tears fell faster, forming a salty puddle around d his forehead, "I wish I wasn't so _dumb_…"

He was crying so hard that at first he didn't even hear it, the soft, comforting 'hoot' of what was unmistakeably an owl. Frowning into the table, Goyle wondered if he had managed to fart without realising, then screamed out loud as something soft brushed the back of his neck.

He sat bolt upright, flailing out his arms and fell over the back of his stool, landing with his legs waving feebly in the air. "Who's there!" he squeaked, staring up at the table top with wide eyes. Something was moving around up there…something HUGE…

There was another soft hoot, then a soft, white head with huge golden eyes peeked out over the table top.

"Malfoy?"

The thing gave an indignant hoot, then gave a small bound right onto his stomach.

"An owl…" whispered Goyle, and reached out, clumsily stroking the slippery, snow white feathers. Then something went _clunk _in his brain, he had seen this owl before. It was Potter's owl. Rather proud of himself for remembering, he grinned goofily.

"Hey, Potter's owl," he whispered, pulling gently at her tail feathers, "You're very pretty. Potter's very lucky to have you…" he broke off, noticing for the first time the owl was holding something in her golden claws. Gently he prised them open, then gasped. It was the onion…the one who could escape him, but not the owl.

Eyes watering rather badly, he looked up. "Did you catch that for _me_?" he asked mistily. By way of reply, the owl gently pushed the onion into his mouth.

The fluffy, dusty onion.

Goyle didn't mind. He stared up at the owl, and realised their faces were an inch apart. She was gazing at him without blinking, with such big, golden eyes…Eyes in which Goyle saw himself reflected twice, outlined in love-hearts…

The wee small hours at Hogwarts school rolled by, soon approaching six o'clock, by which time the house-elves would be waking up to the truly horrible sight in the kitchens. Goyle didn't care. He was in love…with Potter's owl.

Goodness knows what Malfoy was going to say to him.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Hey there! I truly loved writing this one, it made me giggle so much! Don't you think pickled onions is such a Goyle food?

Well, we haven't been receiving many reviews. Evidently, people don't visit much our small corner of Fanfiction. So if you're reading this, however you stumbled by our story…review…please…even to say its utter crap and you wouldn't come near it again with a ten-foot broomstick.

Love ya

Bubbles xx


	9. Hermione and?

Hermione Granger and her long lost love

"Go on, for a laugh."

Hermione Granger stood stock still as two adolescent boys attempted to push and pull her in the direction of a rather suspicious looking shop.

"Oh go on Hermione, you never do anything fun," Ron said grabbing at her sleeve.

"Actually Ron I think confronting a three headed dog and damn near killing myself almost every year of my life spent at Hogwarts is gosh darn well exciting."

"_Gosh darn_?" Harry said sarcastically.

"Yes well, you're both getting on my errm… my errr… Boobies! So I had to become a bit of a potty mouth. I apologise." Hermione broke off to look at her now silent friends.

"Anyway!" said Ron looking rather pink and embarrassed, carefully avoiding looking at her_ boobies_.

"Oh go on Hermione for a laugh, don't you want to know your future?"

"Actually now you've come to mention it… I don't!"

Harry started to giggle. Ron and Hermione stopped their conversation to look at Harry who was now into full blown hysteria.

"What is it?" asked Hermione looking at the pathetic crumpled heap on the floor that once stood face to face with Lord Voldemort.

Harry now had tears running down his face from laughing so hard.

"_Snape…_" another flood of giggles ensued.

"I just saw him coming out of Ann Summers." Harry's fists were smacking the pavement as he laughed louder.

"Ann Summers, that errrm muggle porn shop that we went into once?" Ron realised that he had just revealed a dark secret that he hoped no one had heard. They hadn't because Ron was born lucky. (Creepy wink from a heavily tanned man with perfect teeth).

Hermione had stormed off at this point; knowing about Snape and his preference of underwear was far too much for her to take in. Ann Summers. Eww. It was bad enough that she knew Professor McGonagall shopped there, the one time she went into her office unattended. There had been the bag with Ann Summers written on it and something suspiciously black, shiny and rather small poking out of it. Too small to sufficiently cover the wrinkled up prune that was Professor McGonagall. Hermione, caught up in the thought of what the teachers really wear under their cloaks absent-mindedly walked to the door of the suspicious looking shop.

The windows had blankets of deep purple, dark reds and black voiles hanging across them. A strong smell of incense wafted out through the door. A young couple came out muttering.

"We're all worrying about 'You know who' and they let people like that run a business, it's all corrupt I'm telling you."

The young couple walked away both now having a heated discussion on the differences between muggle politics and that of the Wizarding world.

A soft voice filled the doorway. Hermione was standing in the darkness of the heavily perfumed room.

"Come in, take a seat."

Hermione walked forwards, the voice was strangely familiar.

"Shit." Hermione had just kicked something rather large and hard, a muffled scream came out from the now bruised object.

"Excuse me can we put some lights on in here? I can't see a flipping thing."

The soft voice answered

"NO! Now take a God damn seat and stop kicking my apprentice."

Hermione was wondering if it was not too late to leave, then she felt herself drawn to the shiny object on the table.

"Shiny." Hermione sat down on a large squishy chair

"Do mind getting out of my lap? First you kick me, and then you sit on me. What have I ever done to you?"

"Oh sorry, it's just its very dark in here."

"I know. I have night vision goggles on." The apprentice snorted.

"Ok then." Hermione felt him walk past her and she caught a faint smell of…_Fish?_

"Now my child, take a seat." Hermione actually found a chair this time and sat down.

The voice was really familiar, where had she heard it before Hermione closed her eyes and listened to the voice…

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione snapped out of her daydream.

"Professor Trelawney."

The shape of Professor Trelawney stood in front of her, now it was all falling into place of course, that's why no one ever sees her around school other than in lessons it wasn't because J.K.Rowling just decided that she wanted a new teacher who had been there from the beginning in the third book, it was because she owned a fortune telling shop. Now it all made sense.

"Indeed," agreed Trelawney "but what I really want to know is what's a slut like you doing in a classy place like this?"

Hermione felt her mouth drop open. Did she just say what she thought she just said? Well two could play at this game.

"Avoiding you."

"Are we getting a bit of sass off _the_ Hermione Granger, queen of the suck ups."

"So what if I am their queen I get more respect than you."

Trelawney's eyes flashed, respect was the one thing she craved more than sex on a stick. Trelawney lent forward across the table and put her face nose to nose with Hermione. There was silence which throbbed between them. Hermione felt herself drawn to Trelawney's lips. Trelawney's eyes gleamed at her.

"Can you feel it? There is some kind of sexual attraction. Can you feel it too?"

Passion coursed through their veins. Hermione broke the silence.

"Me. You. Handcuffs. Whipped cream. Any questions?"

There was a loud thump on the other side of the room. Doug the apprentice had fainted.

Hermione kissed Trelawney passionately, they breathed heavily, they moaned. They thrashed around the room like two dying fish on a very hot surface. The crystal ball fell to the floor, unnoticed. Trelawney reached her hand into her robes…

Ooo000ooo000ooO

12 hours later Hermione walked out of the shop, her robes on backwards, her hair sticky with whipped cream and the lingering smell of fish still on her clothes.

Ron and Harry were still laughing.

"_Ann summers_" Panted Harry

"_Severus Snape_!" completed Ron

They both laughed hard for a while, Hermione watched them whilst discreetly picking bits of dried cream out of her nose.

"Hey, Hey Harry," panted Ron red in the face with bits of snot dripping out of his nose, "If I give you a nickel will you tickle my pickle?"

There was a deathly silence. Harry stopped laughing. Hermione stopped picking her nose. They all stared at Ron.

ooo000ooo000ooo

Well that was mildly disgusting, I hope you all get great joy in reading this and please no one take any offence to Hermione swearing (Gosh darn.) If I offend anyone then I am gravely sorry. Please review and I will love you all forever!


	10. Arthur Weasley and?

**George and…? **

**By Bubbles **

It was midnight. A solid wall of darkness encaged him from all sides, as he felt his way carefully across the once familiar terrain of his bedroom, attempting to find the door, desperately feeling along the walls, the bed, the floor -

WHACK.

And he just head-butted his wardrobe door.

Arthur staggered backwards, groaning vaguely to himself, the muffled sounds of party music vibrating up through his feet. The dim bedroom spun hazily in front of his eyes, and he put out a hand, groping blindly along the dresser beside his bed until – thank God – he found his wand.

"Lumush."

Nothing.

"Lumush!"

Nothing. Arthur raised his wand to eye level and glared angrily at it.

"Light up, you fucking twig!"

A ray of dazzling light burst from the wand's tip, so bright that Arthur screamed loudly and once again found himself staggering backwards. Luckily, he hit the bed. After taking a moment to compose himself, Arthur mopped his brow with one hand, then sat up and gazed over at the mirror.

A red haired, balding man blinked blearily back at him, forehead wet with perspiration. Pleased with what he saw, Arthur grinned sleazily at himself.

"Art, you red hot beast, you," he slurred, hitching his best 'sexy time' smile onto his face. "Tonight, you're gonna get lucky, y'are." He sniggered knowingly to himself. Normally, Arthur was quiet, reserved man, but get one drop of alcohol inside him and he became a red-haired version of Casanova.

Or at least, that was what he told himself.

"I'm gonna – _hick ­_– give Molly a night to remember, tonigh', I am!" His reflection winked broadly, and Arthur briefly raised his (invisible) glass of wine and toasted himself.

"To the WeasleyMobile!"

Arthur's 'WeasleyMobile' consisted of the house banister which coiled from the top of the house all the way down to the bottom and ended in a brass knob. Unfortunately for Arthur, after sliding merrily all the way down said WeasleyMobile, he wasn't quite quick enough to avoid slamming groin-first into the aforementioned brass knob.

Arthur's scream of pain was so high, it was silent.

After hitting the ground with a sickening thud and writhing around with his jaw clenched and eyes popping rather spectacularly for around ten minutes, he tentatively climbed to his feet. Then he strutted (albeit, it was a slightly wonky strut) into the kitchen like nothing had ever happened.

The thumping party music smashed into his ear drums like a freight train. People were all around him, jostling him, laughing drunkenly, celebrating like guests of a good Weasley New Year's party should. Waving smoke aside and plucking a shot of firewhisky from a nearby table, Arthur swaggered into the heart of the chaos, where Molly and Harry sat at the table, having a hard-core game of strip poker.

Or rather, having a game of Strip, as there didn't actually appear to be any cards. Arthur stopped, puzzled. Why would Molly be sitting, naked from the waist upwards, before Harry, if they weren't actually playing a game…?

And cupping her breasts…?

And…and _licking Harry's ear_?

Arthur was drunk. This he knew. And when he was drunk, he knew it was all too easy to misread the signals. Why, once he had thought _Hermione _was seducing him, but no, all she had been doing was passing him a bowl of mixed salad. So he really mustn't assume anything.

Arthur glanced over at Molly again.

She was now gyrating against Harry's leg.

Misreading the signals, his ANUS.

Arthur gave a roar of rage, and smashed his shot glass on someone's head. Incidentally, it was Hermione, who stared at him with a glazed expression on her face before dropping her mixed salad and collapsing to the floor in a dead faint.

He looked down, mildly surprised to see her lying there in a pool of lettuce, and that was when the lights went out.

Instantly, people started screaming, and the darkness became full of hysterically running bodies barging into each other. Arthur didn't run, and nor did he scream. His rage combined with his drunken state had equipped him with Night Vision, and he could still see Harry and Molly, who were, to his mounting anger, now experimenting with a pepper pot.

He started toward them with a scream of fury, and ran straight into a wall.

Arthur curled on the floor, massaging his skull, and cursed the person who invented Night Vision.

Whimpering, he raised his head off the ground, then yelled aloud as someone trod on him. With a snarl, he leapt to his feet. That was it.

That…was…it.

He'd had enough.

Arthur Weasley had had enough.

Gone were the days when he retired meekly to his bedroom and sobbed into his pillow after watching Molly flirt outrageously with his son's best friend. Gone were the days when he accepted the single slice of bacon for breakfast without complaint while Harry sat opposite him with a whole bloody STACK on his plate. He was SICK and TIRED of being used and abused by his temptress of a wife – no, it wasn't going to happen anymore!

As the rage slowly began to blind him, Arthur felt someone run past him, screaming a high pitched, feminine scream. Without thinking twice, he reached out and grabbed a fistful of the person's hair, pulling the body close to him and planting his lips on theirs – _who's meek and retiring now, eh, Molly? _

The person screamed and thrashed against him, finally getting away with a jaw breaking punch to Arthur's chops.

Arthur was upset. He crumpled once again to the floor, watching the stars whirl about his head, and hoped sincerely that Molly didn't have Night Vision.

That was when the lights flickered back on.

The noise died down at once.

Hermione stood in the centre of the room, proudly holding a screw driver aloft. "Fuse was blown," she said knowledgably, wiping grease from her hands matter-of-factly.

Everyone stared at her in silence.

Arthur, however, wasn't staring at Hermione. His eyes were fixed to a pair of feet standing before him. Looking slowly up, he took in the jeans with holes in them, the over-sized party shirt, the flaming-red hair, the _fist still raised from where he had just delivered a bloody painful punch…_

George Weasley and Arthur stared at each other.

"Hi, Son!" Arthur slurred, the dawning horror gradually filtering into his alcohol-soaked brain. "That's a damn strong right arm you've got there." He paused reflectively. "I'd say you get from me, but judging from the strength with which your mother over there is ravaging the Boy Who Lived, I'd clearly be telling a lie."

George simply stared at him in silence, his fist still frozen in the air. There was even a slight love bite on his upper lip.

Arthur cringed to himself. Brilliant, Arthur, he told himself bitterly. Excellent revenge, Arthur, _fantastic _revenge. You see your wife making sweet, tender love to a seventeen year old, so you run head-first into a wall then snog your son for good measure. Well Done Arthur.

The entire room was silent, and all eyes were on the pair of them. Arthur lifted his head and tentatively made eye contact with his son, the boy he'd raised from birth, and the boy he'd kissed passionately less than two minutes ago.

"Um," he said quietly. "I'm…shorry…"

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

**This chapter is dedicated to Sweet-Sunshyne, for making my day with that review, and thus making me get off my lazy arse to finish this chapter and post it at long last. I'm also dedicating this to Folk, who rather incredibly reviewed every single chapter, on top of offering literary analysis of each one! Muffins to you both! **

**So yes, to celebrate the Tenth Chapter of this twisted collection of stories, we have a double pairing of Molly/Harry, George/Arthur! **

**You know what to do…if you read, enjoyed, laughed, puked, press on that little button and tell us all about it. :D **

**- Bubbles xxx**

** PS: If you're wondering how Hermione managed to recover from being smacked over the head with a shot glass so quickly, then you need to stop thinking so hard ;)  
**


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